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strikes. One more had internal damage consistent with lightning, but the cause
of death was liver failure apparently he had been a long-term alcoholic.
None of the men matched the description of John Ebenezer. His lips thinned as
he entered another search, widening the area to include Connecticut and New
Jersey. Genevieve had grown up across the river, and it seemed likely that, if
Neezer were still in the area, he would have remained close to his home.
Assuming he stuck around. Sergei wouldn't put any of his money on that.
Behind him, Wren made a sound of disgust, changing the channel with a flick of
the remote. They had spent two days driving through the city, walking into
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homeless shelters and into run-down apartment buildings until she could  see
the wizzarts scattered there, siphoning the faintest trace off their auras
until she could weave a leash from them to her. She had found seven, but had
only managed to create three leashes before collapsing from exhaustion. Just
the memory of her shaking, sweating body made him angry all over again.
"Drink more of the juice, he told her, not looking over his shoulder to make
sure she obeyed him.
The screen displayed a new list of names. Nothing.
"Serg?"
He was at her side before he consciously realized he'd heard her voice. The
juice lay splattered on the carpet, the glass rolling off to one side,
thankfully unbroken. He determined that there was no physical danger, and
cupped her face in his hands all in the space of heartbeats.
"I'm here (endearment), he told her. The pulse at her neck was thready, and
her eyes were glazed, pain lines forming around them. He waited, cursing
whatever idiotic impulse had ever led him to agree to this, as she struggled
to maintain the connection.
"Got him!"
They had lost the first one that morning, the leash snapping before Wren could
do more than be aware of the attack. She had cried then, silent tears that
left her eyes red-rimmed and her nose runny. She had
never been able to cry gracefully. His fingers tightened on her chin.  Easy,
Wren. Hold him. Hold him..."
It was dangerous, touching her. The overrush of current she was going to try
and channel could easily jump to him, and he'd have no protection from it, no
way to ground himself. But he couldn't abandon her to do it alone. They were
partners, damn it.
Sweat was rising from her skin now, dampening her hair against her face and
neck. But she felt cool, almost clammy, tiny jumps of electricity coursing off
the dampness, sparking in the air. He spared a thought for his computer, and
then forgot about it.
"Ah yes, that's it, come on, lean on me.... lean on me, damnit! She was
chanting instructions to the wizzart at the other end of her line, trying to
reach through their connection into his current-crazed mind.
Trust wasn't high on a wizzart's list, though, especially for voices they
heard inside their own heads.
A bolt rumbled through her, almost knocking them to the side. Sergei planted
himself more firmly, his grip keeping her upright. She'd have bruises on her
face when they were done. He'd have them too, on the inside; lighting burns,
internal scarring. Pain ached through his nerve endings. This was insane. For
some literal burnouts they'd never have anything to do with...
For Ebenezer, he reminded himself. For Genevieve.
The air got heavy, and he could almost smell the singing of hair and flesh, of
carpet fibers cracking underneath his knees, the fusing of the wiring in the
walls, the phone, his computer. A lightbulb popped, but all he could focus on
was her labored breathing, the voice crooning encouragement to someone miles
away.
Her eyes, which had been squinted half-shut, opened wide, and she stared into
his eyes endlessly. He felt as though he were falling, tumbling straight into
an electric maw with nothing to stop his fall. He was her, was him, was the
current flowing between them. He Saw through her eyes the wizzart let go, felt
the current being pounded into him, flowing into her, and being grounded. He
understood, finally, for that endless second the elegant simplicity of
grounding, and reveled in the surge of power filling the matter of his
existence.
The wizzart slumped, fell unconscious in a puddle of his own urine.
Get him
, Sergei urged into her open mind.
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Find whoever did this...
He felt her stretch back into the wizzart's self, backtracking the current
that had been pumped into him, striking out like the lightning it rode in. A
shudder of anger, hatred, disgust slamming into hard walls, confusion, and
time stretched and snapped back, knocking him clear across the room and
headfirst into the wall.
When he came to, the room was dark. He didn't bother to turn on the
lights they'd blown, each and every one of them. Crawling forward, he reached
out, finding the top of Wren's head. She was curled into a ball, silently
shaking.
"(endearment)?"
"I screwed up, she said.  I couldn't get them. It was too far away, I
couldn't reach the bastards..."
He sat there, in the dark, and rocked his partner back and forth while she
cried.
* * * *
"It was a good control group, Sergei said around a mouthful of toast.  Small
enough population to monitor, and nobody to care if a few bodies went missing.
Who knows how long they'd been perfecting
this? He shook his head, less astonished at the ways of mankind than
impressed at the planning it had taken. Planning, and resources, and a certain
bloody-mindedness.
"You're a bastard, Sergei. He had dragged her out to have breakfast, but she
wasn't eating. Scrambled eggs congealed on the plate in front of her.
Sunglasses perched on the edge of her nose even though the diner itself was
shaded and cool.
He put his fork down.  What do you want me to say? It's over, Wren. We got too
close ... we scared them, at least. They knew someone was trying to reach
them, whoever they are. That will make them pull back, be cautious."
"So they'll just move shop to another town? Sergei, I can't... She stopped.
 I couldn't do anything last night. I didn't have enough juice, wasn't good
enough. We can't stop them. We don't even know who
 they are."
He ran a hand through his hair, wincing a little as he touched the bandage on
his forehead. Practical acceptance was an essential in their business. But it
wasn't all downside.  We know the how, what they're doing, the kind of people
they're looking for. A few well-placed words, a few well-placed comments in
the right newsgroup, and people will be looking, and paying attention. They'll
be able to protect each other"
"It's not enough. He could see the tears building again, and watched her
force them away.
Damn you, John Ebeneezer...
"It's all we can do. He didn't have anything more to offer her. Sometimes,
all you could do was make sure your own neighborhood was clean. Sometimes,
that just had to be enough.
Wren didn't look convinced. But she picked up her fork, shoveled a mouthful,
and chewed, swallowed.
That was enough.
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